


Burden Borne

by gloriousmonsters



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Sibling Incest, Sleepwalking, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2013-07-06
Packaged: 2017-12-17 20:23:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/871592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloriousmonsters/pseuds/gloriousmonsters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Níniel knows they both labor under their troubles, but their love is only the stronger for that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burden Borne

Níniel pretended, sometimes, that she had been born at the moment she began to remember.  
  
It was terrifying to think of an entire life folded inside the soft-black heaviness of simply not remembering; so of evenings (the days were busy enough to keep her mind clear of worry) she would close her eyes and imagine, childishly, that she was some kind of nymph, a spirit of the woods who had sprung to life fully-formed. Maybe she had been made for Turambar, like she felt he had been made for her.  
  
But the cut wood of their house did not sadden her as it might a nymph, and after dark the forests still held a lingering fear; so in a sinking place deep inside her, she knew it was not the truth. Still, when she told Turambar of her fancy, he smiled.  
  
So she held onto her dreams even harder, wishing they were more true.  
  
~  
  
Sometimes, she had nightmares. But unlike Turambar's, which were few and violent and made him cry out and left him shaking in her arms, hers were quiet; sometimes her body would rise from the bed without her knowledge and she would wander among the houses, wide-eyed but seeing nothing. Some said it was a look of horror upon her face, in those times; others that she only wept, as silently as she walked, like one bereaved.  
  
Brandir took her to his house, the first time, and woke her gently with the scent of herbs; but although it seemed memories drifted indistinct in her mind through her first awakening moments, she was not able to answer any of his questions.  
  
"I apologize," he said, when she fully woke and demanded to know where she was, "I only hoped to learn something of your past."  
  
His brow was knitted with worry and he had not been anything but kind, so she forgave him; but she spoke to Turambar, and after that the guard or late-awake person who spotted her would go to him and wake him, and he would come to find her.  
  
Níniel awoke, one night, when he was carrying her back to bed; stumbling, because he was tired, and she put her hand to his face gently.  
  
"I'm sorry," she said softly, her heart hurting; but he smiled down at her.  
  
"There's no need," he said.  
  
"I am a burden."  
  
"If you are a burden," Turambar said, "you are a blessed one; I am glad of a burden such as you," and he kissed her, there outside their house with the scent of the herbs she'd planted around the doorway heavy on the air. She clung to him with both hands, savoring his warmth, the light scratch of his beard against her face.  
  
They did not sleep, after that, and when their coupling was over Turambar drew her close, wrapping his arms securely around her.  
  
"I won't wander off again," she said softly, snuggling her head up under his chin.  
  
"I know; but I need to feel that you're still here," Turambar said, voice quiet.  
  
~  
  
The stink of the dragon was making images swim through her mind, and when the voice of it cut into her ears, all the black fog was torn away from her; it was if she saw both Dor-lómin and Doriath again, and all the memories within them seemed like to crush her mind with their heaviness, where her memories before had been so few and so glad.  
  
Níniel fell to her knees at her husband's side as Niënor did at her brother's; she was two women, sewn into one with a curse, as she ran her hand through his ragged hair.  
  
"Twice beloved," she said, her voice thin with shock, and then laughed; choking, breathless, because it suddenly seemed very funny. At last she stilled, bent over, forehead resting on Túrin's shoulder.  
  
There was the tap-scrape of Brandir's footsteps behind her; he spoke carefully. "He might not be dead yet; I could look at him..."  
  
"Why," she said, "can I not be only part of myself?"  
  
"Please do not despair..."  
  
"I will not," she answered, her voice a little stronger. Her mother - her mother was still somewhere, out in the world; perhaps even her father, still holding against Morgoth. With a shaky breath she rose.  
  
"Please, heal him," she said softly; and Niënor Níniel walked to the cliff's edge to watch the water until her beloved awoke.


End file.
